Distorting Enemy Lines
by Ahja Reyn
Summary: Locked away together by the very people they called friends, Harry and Draco must learn to overcome all petty differences when foreign feelings begin to fall into play.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Distorting Enemy Lines  
**Author**: Reyn  
**Rating**: M for Mansecks  
**Disclaimer**: I merely play and twist JK's creations to my own liking. I don't actually own anything other than the plot.  
**Warnings**: AR (this story was planned _years_ before the sixth and seventh books were written, so please disregard everything that doesn't match what it should), gay (in the form of Harry/Draco and Draco/Harry), possible slow updates (for this, I am truly sorry, but I tend to be a busy person who enjoys juggling many stories in multiple fandoms, so it can't be helped), and many clichés (the biggest reason in my putting off writing this had to be the fact that it contains so many fandom clichés that it hurts. I'll do my best to keep things interesting regardless).  
**Author's Notes**: As I'm writing this AN, I must warn everyone now that the first 5-10 chapters are going to be pulled out of my ass. I had an idea for the story and decided I hated it and now I'm not too sure what to do. But! I do like what I have planned for the rest of the story, so that will hopefully give me a direction to head to.

With that said, I hope everyone enjoys!

* * *

**Chapter One**

Hermione Granger hurried down the corridor, not quite running, but not really moving slow enough for it to be called walking. This would be the third time this month she had gotten so caught up in her reading assignments that she was late for a Prefect meeting and seeing as how she was the Head Girl, setting such an example for all the other students was just downright embarrassing.

Not to mention the fact that Draco Malfoy would have yet another field day digging into her tardiness by dropping several obvious hints that she was unsuitable for her position and that he should probably start turning in nominations for someone else to do the job.

"_Well, well, well, look who decided to finally join us. I know Christmas is almost upon us and with this being the last meeting before we break for holidays, not much will be covered, but really, Granger, as Head Girl you should be setting a good example by not making a habit of your tardiness. Unless, of course, you actually have more important things to do that would explain why you can't make it on time to our meetings…?"_

She could practically hear that sneer questioning her dedication as she gave up trying to look somewhat dignified in her rush and broke into a flat-out run around the last corner to the designated classroom.

Doing her best not to look completely out of breath as she slipped quietly through the door, she was unable to stop the wince as all eyes immediately turned to take in her belated presence. Seeing no point in remaining silent in the back of the room as she had planned, she cleared her throat and headed to her rightful place at the head of the crowd behind the empty teacher's desk.

"Sorry I'm late…again," she apologized. "What have I missed?"

"Nothing, seeing as how we haven't started yet," Ernie Macmillan, one of the Hufflepuff Prefects answered as everyone merely shifted to attention in their seats, eager to get this meeting over with so they could head back to their rooms to finish packing.

Blinking in confusion, Hermione cast a glance over at the cuckoo clock on the far wall then down at her watch. Both times informed her it was thirteen minutes past the meeting's designated starting time.

"We've been waiting for both you _and_ Malfoy to show," Ernie went on to explain at the Head Girl's obvious befuddlement.

"Malfoy?" Hermione echoed. "We're waiting on Malfoy? Why isn't he here yet?"

"He's in detention."

Heads turned to Slytherin Prefect Pansy Parkinson, who was lazily flipping through the meeting's previous minutes in search of anything noteworthy to be brought up for this round.

"What?" Hermione frowned. "Again?"

"Doesn't that make this the sixth function he's missed because of detention?" one younger Ravenclaw whispered.

"Yes! And I got stuck escorting those orchestra students from Salem by myself because of it last time!" another complained.

"Yeah, but that was because he had a black eye and a busted lip, wasn't it?"

"But didn't he give Harry two left feet in retaliation?"

"Alright, can we please focus on the meeting?" Hermione called out, trying to bring back a bit of order to the room.

"It was hardly his fault!" Pansy argued. "Maybe if Potter was kept on a leash or something we wouldn't be having these problems!"

"Yeah? I got a better idea. You put a gag on Malfoy so he'll stop provoking Harry and we can call it even."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "RON! That's not helping the-"

Anything more she meant to say was cut off by the sudden eruption of noise as just about all the Slytherins present jumped up to defend their beloved prince as the Gryffindors did the same. Really now, just because Malfoy was absent didn't mean the 'no snide remarks' rule became obsolete.

Fortunately, everyone was too lazy to stand up from their seats so all fighting was kept to a verbal level as Hermione simply added to the din, doing her best to shut everyone up by yelling out, "Would you all _please_ settle down? The sooner you all be quiet the sooner we can – oh, for mercy's sake, come _on_, people! Grow up!"

This naturally was _not_ heard over several well-placed insults and accusations, each one growing more and more ridiculous.

It wasn't until Draco Malfoy was accused of turning poor Timmy into a newt ("Isn't that right, Timmy!" followed by a hesitant "N-no?" from the boy in question, only to be defied with a "Nonsense! You're just lucky you got better!") that Hermione finally decided to take more drastic measures.

The initial bang and flickering lights wasn't enough to completely stop all arguments, but the shrilling scream that grew in volume and pitch as the racket refused to die down was.

Hands over their ears, the mob returned their attention to the front of the room where the Head Girl patiently waited until she had everyone's undivided attention before waving her wand to put a stop to the Flickering Banshee incantation.

"Really now," Hermione began, the tone in her voice now more than enough to ensure the current silence was kept. "The start of _every_ year we go through a fight like this and get lectured. The only difference to this year is that rather than getting over ourselves and behave like proper Prefects for the rest of the year, we keep falling back on the habit every time Harry and Malfoy go off and decide to land themselves in detention together! Ah! Not one word, Ron! Not one bloody word!"

Rather than going ahead with saying whatever it was he was about to say, Ron Weasley snapped his mouth shut with a pout and slouched low in his seat. Several other students who looked like they wanted to say something as well took one look at the dark glare on Hermione's face and decided it best to simply follow Ron's example and try to hide themselves behind their desks.

"I'd tell you all to grow up, but seeing as how that never works, I'm going to have to find a more permanent solution to this problem before we break for today."

Several wary glances were exchanged.

Taking a moment to massage her temples and let the Gryffindors and Slytherins squirm uncomfortably in their seats, Hermione sighed and decided to momentarily move on. "Pansy, anything important from the last meeting?"

"There was still some lingering concern over the creeping vines that had been fed a bit of tampered Firewhiskey on the castle's north wall; some students are still reporting that the branches snake out to steal their drinks when the eat near it," Pansy reported dutifully, instantly putting aside all differences in favor of becoming the temporary center of attention.

"Professor Sprout said she should have the plant weaned off its new alcoholic urges by the time Holidays are over, so we can ignore that," Hermione dismissed. "What are the minutes for this meeting?"

"Just the standard rules and procedures for getting the students down to the train, on the train, riding the train, and off the train without hexing anyone in the process."

Hermione nodded, noticing the small packets of paper everyone had before them. "Okay, everyone should already have a general idea of what to do, but for the newer Prefects it's the same as the beginning of the year, only backwards. One Prefect between every three carriages and no riding on the roofs as an excuse to better watch over the line. I'm serious, it's been done before and the professors weren't very happy when they found out!

"Your packets should contain your specific duties in greater detail, so be sure to read through them before you go using the paper to practice your origami and whatnot."

Feeling assured that everyone would take at least a moment at some point to read or at least glance through the packets before the day was over, she moved on.

"How many students do we have staying behind this year?"

Various numbers were called out as different Prefects listed off what information they had managed to gather from their Houses.

"Okay, so that's…three for Ravenclaw, two for Gryffindor, none for…Slytherin was it? And two for…" Hermione frowned at the official sign up list for the students who intended to stay. "Jackie, you said Ruth Vintari was planning on staying? Her name's not on the list. Make sure she informs Professor Sprout as soon as possible so the notice can be sent to her parents before tonight is over so they know things are in order."

At Jackie's confirming nod, Hermione put the list aside and sat down, steepling her fingers and pressing them to her chin in thought. "Now to solve the problem of putting an end to these petty arguments we're always having."

The Prefects once again took to shifting nervously in their seats. One lone Hufflepuff was brave enough to raise her hand.

"Uhm, since this whole Gryffindor slash Slytherin debacle doesn't really concern the rest of us, can we leave?"

Hermione took a breath, fully ready to dismiss the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws as suggested, but then abruptly changed her mind. "No. I need unbiased witnesses in case of the very likely event of things getting out of hand. Ernie, you're in charge of taking notes."

Scowling as her duties were so easily ripped away from her, Pansy passed back the scroll of parchment.

"If you don't feel as if this will concern you, feel free to take the time now to read or reread the packets on the detailed procedures for getting the students to the train safely. No one will be leaving until we reach a solution everyone agrees on," the Head Girl ordered.

"What if we agree to buy Harry a leash if they gag Malfoy?" a sixth year Gryffindor asked jokingly, causing chuckles to ripple about.

"Only if you buy Potter a collar to go with it," another Slytherin teased.

"Make it a ball gag and throw a blindfold on Malfoy and we'll consider it!"

"NO, we will _not_ be considering it!" Ron erupted, feeling mildly disgusted at the mental images currently assaulting his brain.

"Look, we ALL agree that the main source of these skirmishes are because of Harry's and Malfoy's inability to get along, correct?" Hermione interrupted before everyone's trail of thinking fell completely into the gutter. At the nodding of heads, she continued, "Then all we really need to do is find a way to make them get along or at least act civilly until the year is over!"

Feeling rather proud of her idea, Hermione was a bit thrown at the blank stares she was now receiving.

"Granger…you do recall that they've been at each other's throats since the day they met, right?" Pansy asked slowly. "Under what possible conditions could they ever be convinced to stop their constant pissing contests for anyone's sake but their own?"

"They just got off on the wrong foot is all," Hermione reasoned.

"For the past seven years?" Not even Ron was buying it.

"What if we approached them with some sort of reward system?" a Ravenclaw offered.

"And what? Give them a cookie for each time they're civil to one another? I really don't see that happening," Ernie snorted, scribbling down the idea regardless.

"I like cookies," one portrait randomly spoke up from its position under the cuckoo clock.

"Besides, Draco's already Head Boy and has all the power he could want from this school," Pansy put in. "Plus he could easily buy ten of whatever else you were to offer him."

"Well, then what about a punishment system?" Hermione asked.

"Hey, that's a good idea! And then every time they fight, they get detention and House points taken away!" a fifth-year Slytherin piped up enthusiastically.

The heavy sarcasm was not missed.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Hermione explained. "I mean we sit them down and explain to them the more dire consequences of their actions. If this keeps up, I'm sure the teachers are going to take action and maybe even revoke Malfoy's Head Boy status!"

"Why is Draco the only one getting punished in this punishment system?"

"Because he's Head Boy and should therefore know better than to start fights that are going to get his ass landed in detention," an anonymous voice spoke up.

Once again, the room erupted in shouts at the injustice of it all, making Hermione want to hit her head against the table. Repeatedly.

"Alright, ALRIGHT!" she shouted. "See, this is exactly what I mean! Everyone's so quick to defend either Harry or Malfoy that we Prefects, the very elites of this school, are reduced to yelling and arguing like a bunch of opposing spectators at a quidditch game or something. Can't you all see what they're fights are doing to us? We need to bring back some level of integrity to Hogwarts or things might just continue to spiral out of control even after they've graduated and moved on!"

Okay, so maybe she was exaggerating a bit, but really, the fights _were_ starting to get a little out of hand and she was really getting sick of being the one having to deal with and moderate them. The less Malfoy was in detention, the more he would be here at the Prefect meetings and other functions like he was supposed to, and the less chance there would be of the Slytherins being needlessly sour and the Gryffindors pouring salt into the wounds.

Unwittingly, the memory of Harry's and Malfoy's first detention of the year flashed through Hermoine's mind, causing her to shudder. It happened to fall on a Hogsmeade weekend and for some reason, every last Slytherin believed it to be entirely Harry's fault (which it _might_ have been if Hermione were to be completely honest with herself).

Even though it couldn't be proven, Hermione strongly suspected that it was the sixth year Slytherin Prefects who had gone about casting the words 'Potter's Bitch' on the backs of all the Gryffindors they checked off leaving the school grounds. When the prank had been realized, the fifth year Gryffindor Prefects did the same to any Slytherin they came across at Hogsmeade.

Sadly, the Slytherins did not take to having 'Potter's Bitch' etched on their backs nearly as kindly as the Gryffindors did.

Oh, there had been bloodshed that day. Hexes were being cast left and right and just about every Gryffindor and Slytherin returned to school with some sort of odd ailment that required a trip to the Infirmary.

Luckily, no one from town complained so no large-scale teacher involvement was really necessary, but Hermione had been beside herself with barely contained fury when whispers of whom the culprits were reached her ears.

She was fairly certain the Prefects were turning this into some sort of tradition as the line of detentions continued.

"But 'Mione, they've hated each other for _seven years_," Ron stated, feeling the need to emphasize this point. "No matter what you tell them, they're not going to stop fighting! Nothing short of locking them in a closet together and telling them they can't come out until they're the best of friends is going to work!"

Hermione blinked and suddenly sat straighter in her chair. "Say that again, Ron?"

"I said they've hated each other for seven-"

"No, not that part, the last bit."

"Er…no matter what you tell them, they're not going to stop fighting?" Ron tried.

"No, after that!"

The confused and hesitant look she received made Hermione click her tongue in annoyance. Honestly, wasn't he paying attention to his own words as he said them?

Luckily Ron was saved by Ernie, who seemed to be turning his job as note-taker into a scribe of sorts.

"He said locking them in a closet together and telling them they can't come out until they get along should work," Ernie said helpfully, dipping his quill for more ink.

"Ron, I think you may be on to something," Hermione stated joyfully, a rather scary gleam entering her eyes.

"…I am?" Her enthusiasm was failing to catch on and seemed to frighten the redhead more than anything else.

"Yes! Just think, if they're locked up together they'll HAVE to talk things out and come to terms with their differences! Ron, you're a genius!"

Ron's mouth was left hanging open. "No, I'm not! Hermione, are you MAD? They'll _kill_ each other if we stick them in a closet! And then they'll blast the door down and kill all of us!"

The Slytherins nodded in agreement.

"Then we'll just have to take their wands away beforehand." The logic in which that was said was far too oversimplified for even Ernie's liking, and he looked up to make sure Hermione was in fact the one who said it.

"You're kidding, right?" he asked, his quill no longer moving.

"And make sure they're locked in something bigger than a closet or cupboard…and someplace where nothing can be used as a weapon…and maybe a first aid kit nearby…although that might not do any good since I doubt either of them really know how to use one…"

Glances were once again exchanged between the Gryffindors and Slytherins, and for the first time in the history of ever, they united.

"Granger…I really don't think that's the best solution," Pansy said gently as Ron nodded in agreement.

"Why?" Hermione asked. "Do you have a better idea?"

The silence that followed pretty much said, "no."

"What if we just hit them with Cheering Charms whenever they're within the vicinity of one another?" one Gryffindor asked.

"Seeing one another in pain or peril is the only thing that makes them happy when they're stuck breathing the same air. They'll end up in the Infirmary without fail, laughing at each other if we did that," another Slytherin dismissed.

Not to be deterred, the Gryffindor tried another angle. "Then isn't there some type of potion that can make them get along?"

"Potions that mess with a person's emotions are forbidden outside of Potions class."

The blank stares from the Gryffindors convinced more than one Slytherin to shrug their shoulders at the rule.

"But then again, I don't think any of us see the harm in using such a method to meet an ends."

"Are we really going to stoop so low as to poison our friends' food for our own sake?" Ron asked, not at all comfortable with such an idea.

When put like that, the enthusiasm for the idea died a quick and horrible death.

"Well it's better than locking them in a closet together, isn't it?" Pansy opposed.

"You may think so, but at least the emotions of that outcome will be real and none of us will be wracked with guilt later on," Hermione defended.

"Unless one of them ends up _dead_," Ron muttered, shifting lower in his seat.

Hermione scowled and glanced up at the clock. Damn. She didn't want to keep them all here much longer – she had her own belongings to organize and pack.

"Alright, since we can't completely agree on a solution, I'm giving you all a homework assignment for the Holidays. Think of a way that will work. I am not going to let this go. Owl me your ideas and the next time Malfoy and Harry are in detention, we are going to settle this matter once and for all. Do I make myself clear?"

Grumbles and groans were her only responses.

"Good. I call this meeting to a close, then."

The scraping of chairs and the shuffling of papers was heard as everyone stood to leave, glad they could at last return to packing their bags in preparation to head home the day after tomorrow.

Approaching the front desk, Ron sat on its edge as he waited for Hermione to gather up her things.

"Do you seriously want me to think of ways to make Harry and Malfoy become…_friends_?" he asked, making a face as he forced out the last word, clearly believing that it should never exist in a sentence that Harry and Malfoy were the topics of.

"No, it's fine, Ron," Hermione dismissed easily, handing a few books over to her friend to carry.

Of all the responses he had been expecting, _that_ had not been one of them. "…It is?"

"Yep. Don't worry about it."

It was then that Ron caught that maniacal gleam that was still in Hermione's eyes. "'Mione? What exactly do you have planned?"

"Hm? I'm going to lock those two in the Room of Requirement," was the almost dreamy explanation that caused Ron to stop dead in his tracks.

"You're WHAT?"

"Just think, Ron! It's the perfect place! I can lure both Malfoy and Harry there easily enough and the Room will take care of the rest! And the best part is, we can rest assured that the Room won't allow them to actually kill one another! Isn't it perfect?"

"No!"

The disagreement was ignored.

"I think it would be best if we got this over with sometime tomorrow, don't you agree? This way they can settle things just in time to head home for the holidays and come back with a fresh page. Now let's see, I can get Malfoy by telling him there's a few last minute Head Boy and Girl duties I need to go over with him and you can get Harry by-"

"We?" Ron echoed. "What do you mean 'we'? I'm not about to hand my best friend over to the one bloke our age who won't hesitate in murdering for the sheer sadistic pleasure of it all!"

Hermione frowned as she shut the door to the classroom behind them. "Stop being stupid. Malfoy doesn't have it in him to actually kill anyone."

"And you know this how?"

With a huff, Hermione grabbed Ron's arm and pulled him off to the side, in the entrance of an unlit corridor. "Look, if these detentions continue – which I know they will – then the other Prefects will continue to act completely out of hand, and I can't deal with that by myself. Plus sooner or later one of their detentions is going to interfere with the quidditch game schedule with the sole intention of trying to drill a lesson into their heads that they're never going to learn! Do you really want that, Ron?"

Ron couldn't bring himself to lie. Not to those eyes. "No…But what makes you so certain that they'll learn anything by being locked in a room together all night? I mean, what if they come out fighting worse than before? Or Harry actually _kills_ Malfoy? He'd be a murderer! Or what if they come out not talking to each other at all and…" Ron trailed off, frowning a bit as he realized his arguments weren't actually helping his case.

"Have any of my ideas ever gone horribly wrong?"

Making the very grave mistake of looking at Hermione's face as she said that, Ron felt his pulse quicken as she pulled off _that_ look. He wasn't sure where the hell she had picked it up, but whenever she used it, just about all the males of the Hogwarts student population picked up this odd inability to go against her. Perhaps she was bitten by a veela over summer?

"No…but…"

The _look_ intensified.

Ron folded like a house of cards. "You're _sure_ nothing bad will come out of this? And I mean in a truly bad sense, not in a warped…I hate Malfoy sort of sense."

"I have absolute faith in the Room of Requirement. It's never let us down before, has it?" Hermione was unable to stop the grin from spreading across her face. "As long as we're specific in the type of room we need, what's the worst that could happen?"

Ron was unable to keep the thought '_famous last words_' from running through his head as he moved to follow the over-confident Head Girl back to their Common Room to execute her plan.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Harry's palms were sweaty.

This wasn't really anything new. His palms had been sweaty loads of times before, like when he got into trouble with professors, or when he was about to take a test he hadn't studied for, or when it was hot. But none of those times compared to this.

Ron had asked to meet him tonight – the night before school let out for the Christmas holiday – in the Room of Requirement. Alone.

This wasn't exactly anything new either. They were always meeting at random locations and had been doing so for years. But this time, things were different. Harry was sure of it.

Because this time, he had a secret.

Well, it wasn't _really_ a secret. It was just something he hadn't gotten around to telling anyone. He wasn't even sure if anyone needed telling anyway. Hell, he wasn't even 100% positive _about_ the secret, so technically there might not be any secret in the first place.

Regardless, Harry found himself mentally running through various conversations, trying to find ways to break the news to Ron without things going pear shaped.

"_Hey, have you checked out Padma lately? Yeah, I know what you mean. But, you know, I noticed something when I was looking at her. Well, I had a suspicion before but…what I'm trying to say is…I don't think girls really cut it for me._"

That was a good one! Good job, brain!

But what if Ron already had his suspicions? What should he say then?

"_Look, it's not that I've been sneaking glances at you guys in the shower because I want to snog any of you. It's just simple curiosity! I can't help it! I mean, what if you, me, and Hermione had to shower naked together for whatever reason? Obviously we'd both look at her, but it's not like we'd want to shag her!_"

Upon immediate reflection, Harry decided that would be a bad example. Hermione had not only been getting the attention of a lot of men lately, but she seemed to be using it to her advantage as well. At any given time, she could be seen with some poor, nameless chap who was buried under a pile of books or scrolls he had offered to help carry to the next class.

While Ron was smart enough to usually avoid becoming the hapless victim of such manual labor, he still had a tendency to gripe about why Hermione couldn't just shrink her books down and carry them herself.

Jumping the gap to the landing as the moving staircase started to pull away, Harry rounded the corner to the third floor's corridor and decided to treat the issue the same way he would when taking off a bandage.

Quick, easy, and painless.

"_I might be gay, but don't worry - I think it's just a phase. Nothing a few Romanian witches can't cure when we're down visiting Charlie. He promised to introduce us to some, right? Brilliant! Let's go sneak a butterbeer from the kitchens!_"

The door to the Room of Requirement was already there. Pausing before entering, Harry briefly entertained the idea of not saying anything at all – a quicker, easier, and even more painless way to go about things. But then if he did that and managed to avoid the subject now, Ron might try to bring it up over the holidays in front of his family.

Harry burst through the large wooden door, the fear of hearing Mrs. Weasley's voice if she were to ever find anything out ("Well…oh. Gay? Are you sure?") driving him to get it off his chest immediately.

"Look, Ron, I have a feeling I know why you called me out here, and even if I'm wrong, I still have something to say! Iiiieeeeyyyou're not Ron."

Despite most of the figure's features being blocked out by the shadows cast by the fire behind him, it was impossible not to recognize the shine of Draco Malfoy's platinum blond hair.

"Obviously not, but don't let that stop you from making declarations I can later take advantage of," the Head Boy responded, sitting back down on the arm of the high back chair he had previously been relaxing on before he was startled to his feet.

A quick glance around the mostly bare room told Harry they were alone.

"Where's Ron?" he asked, eyeing the fireplace suspiciously as if expecting to find a burning body in its depths.

Malfoy seemed surprised by the question. "Why are you asking me?"

Harry merely glowered at him in response.

With a tired sigh, Draco slid back into the seat of his chair, his sprawled position very much giving off the 'I could care less' attitude. "Unless he's escorting Granger to her meeting with me, I have no bloody idea where he might be," he answered. "Now go away. This area is currently Prefects only and you're tainting my air."

Harry stubbornly remained where he was. "Ron told me to meet him here."

A pale hand waved flippantly about. "Then go wait outside. I'm sure he's perfectly capable of finding you out there."

Harry opened his mouth, fully ready to demand _Malfoy_ wait outside, when he realized the other man had yet to actually insult him. Figuring it was far too close to the holidays to be the one to start yet another fight, Harry turned on his heel to walk out of the room, only to find himself facing a blank wall instead. A quick inspection to the left and right told him the stones extended all the way to the corners.

"Er…" Harry turned around several times, examining the room. "Where's the door?"

It took Malfoy a second to react and sit up. "What?" He, too, spun around as best he could from his seated position. "What did you do to the door, Potter?"

"What do you mean what did _I_ do? _I_ was trying to leave!" Harry began to pace along the four walls, fully expecting a door to appear before him. He stopped to point an accusing finger at the Slytherin as none appeared. "_You_ locked me in before I could leave!"

"Why would I do anything to keep you _in_ the room with me? Malfoy argued as he stood. "Now bring it back!"

"Don't you think I'm trying?" Harry snapped as he reversed his course, running a hand along the wall in the hope the door had merely gone invisible.

"I _order_ you to bring the door back!"

Harry's mouth fell open in outrage and his head whipped around before he realized that Malfoy was talking to the room and not to him. He watched as the other boy marched over to the approximate spot where the door used to be and glared down the stones.

"Didn't you hear me? I _demand_ an exit!"

In absolutely any other situation, it would have been hilarious. When trapped with the son of someone who wants you dead in a magical room that's supposed to grant your wishes, it was downright terrifying.

Years of experience told Harry it was time to pull out his wand. Problem was his pockets were empty.

"What are you doing?"

Harry froze in the panicked patting down of his body and immediately took on a more natural stance.

"Nothing," he replied as casually as he could. "What are _you_ doing?"

The staring continued for a moment longer before Malfoy finally turned back around, sticking both hands into his own pockets.

Harry wasn't positive, but he thought he heard "fucking ponce" being muttered seconds before Malfoy stiffened and started patting himself down.

"My wand…" Malfoy whirled around, looking back to where he had been sitting. Unable to see anything, he hurried over and began to throw cushions about. "What did you do with my wand, Potter?" he demanded as he moved his search from the chairs and settee to the coffee table, sifting through a tray full of assorted cookies as if they were hiding his wand.

Harry hesitantly moved forward until he was just standing within the main circle of light the fireplace gave off. "So…you don't have your wand either?"

Frustrated, Malfoy threw a cookie in Harry's direction before dropping to his knees to look under the table. "Does it look like I-" There was a sudden pause and Malfoy's head popped up. "You're missing your wand?"

Harry nodded.

"And it's not because you're an idiot who just left it in your common room or packed it in your trunk?"

"So says the genius who almost had his wand eaten by some alcoholic creeper vines," Harry snorted.

Draco glared at the reminder. He had very nearly lost an eye when the ivy spit his wand back out upon realizing it wasn't Firewhiskey.

"That doesn't answer my question, Potter," he growled.

Lifting one of the upset cushions from the couch to see if his wand had somehow magically hidden itself there, Harry shook his head. "No. Are you sure _you_ didn't pack _your_ wand away?"

"No pureblood is that stupid," Malfoy sneered. "Not even Longbottom."

Harry frowned, feeling affronted on behalf of his friend, despite the fact the jab was not quite an insult.

"But if you don't have your wand…and I don't have _my_ wand…" The Gryffindor trailed off as the two of them came to realize just how trapped they really were in a malfunctioning magic room with no wands to aid them.

In a flash, they were at the wall separating them from the corridor, pounding against it as they yelled for help. Malfoy tried pushing the stones and Harry figured that was probably the smarter thing to do after his attempt at ramming them resulted in only a very sore shoulder.

The shouts and wall attacks continued on for several more minutes until a cry of, "I don't _want_ to be stuck here with Scarhead!" was interrupted by a heavy cloth falling over the boys.

Scrambling back, they realized the cloth was actually a tapestry. A tapestry that held a woven message addressed to the two of them.

"_To Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy,_"

Your constant fights are putting a severe strain on the inter-house relationships of the whole school and need to be stopped. On behalf of all the Prefects, I ask that you both work this out amongst yourselves and come to a truce. The Room of Requirement has been set up as a friendly environment that will prevent you from doing any lasting damage to one another. Once you come to an agreement to Hogwart's satisfaction, the door will reappear. Until then your wands are safe with me.

Sincerely,  
Hermione Granger  
Head Girl

Malfoy ran his hands through his hair, fixing it back to its former glory as he finished reading the tapestry out loud, the rage in his voice barely contained.

"But Ron's the one who asked me to come here!" Harry insisted, as if trying to prove this was nothing more than a sham.

_PS – Harry, Ron says he's sorry._

Harry's mouth fell open.

"I'm going to kill her," Malfoy growled, grabbing the tapestry and fighting to rip it down from the wall. "As soon as my wand is back in my hand, I'm sending her to the Dark Lord and-"

Harry's fist barely grazed Malfoy's shoulder as the Head Boy jumped back just in time to avoid a solid punch to the neck.

"Don't you ever even _joke_ like that," Harry seethed, taking a menacing step forward.

Lifting his handfuls of fabric as if it would protect him, Malfoy took an equal step back and goaded, "Or you'll what? Hex me? Storm off? Put me in the Infirmary?" As the Gryffindor's fists tightened, Malfoy snorted and gave the tapestry a final tug, successfully ripping it off from its hangings. "I've got news for you, Potter," he said as he trudged over to the fireplace. "Thanks to _your_ so-called intelligent friend, you can't do a damn thing."

With a pointed raise of the tapestry, Malfoy bundled the offending material up as best as he could and threw it in the fire.

From their respective positions, both students watched the cloth burn for a moment before Harry sighed in defeat as he moved to the back of the couch and straightened out the cushions.

"Just so you know, this really is what I think of Granger right…" Malfoy trailed off, his hand still poised in its motioning to the fire as he stared past Harry's head. "_Damn_ it!"

At his exclamation, Harry spun around, wondering what else could possibly be going wrong now.

The wall was once again sporting Hermione's tapestry.

"Great," Harry said lightly, slapping a pillow as he walked around the couch to sit down. "She's mocking us."

The dark scowl on Malfoy's face showed he was anything but amused.

For some reason, this put the Gryffindor in a slightly better mood as he leaned back in his seat.

For the next fifteen or so minutes, the only sound to fill the room was the soft roar of the fire as devoured the fabric. Having finished examining what few surroundings there were to the room in the first three minutes, Harry soon found himself bored and restless. Perhaps it wouldn't kill him to try and start a conversation? But then what on earth would you talk about with someone you hated in an effort to call a truce?

"So…what's your favorite color?" he asked.

Malfoy's lip curled. "What?"

"What's your favorite color?" Harry repeated. When no answer was forthcoming, he rolled his eyes and explained. "Look, Hermione said the Room isn't going to let us out until we-" he twisted around to read the exact words. "-'come to an agreement to Hogwart's satisfaction.' So let's just get this over with so I can get out of here and go to bed."

"And what? Knowing my favorite color is the solution to us becoming the best of friends?" the Slytherin asked, his tone dripping with skepticism. "My likes and dislikes are none of your business. Don't touch my cookies."

Harry paused, one hand hovering over the cookie tray as he looked up at the blond man before him. He then scoffed and took a cookie anyway.

"Look, all I'm saying is if I know your likes and dislikes, I'll know what to avoid when around you in the future," Harry stated thickly around a mouthful of cookie.

"You could avoid talking with your mouth full of food for one."

At Harry's large grin, complete with cookie bits stuck between his teeth, Malfoy disgustedly looked away.

Swallowing, Harry reached for another cookie. "Go on, what else?"

Gaze stubbornly fixed on the fireplace, Malfoy crossed his arms. "I'm done talking to you. Anything I tell you will just be used against me later on."

"No it won't!" Harry insisted, making sure to swallow his mouthful before speaking this time around. "This is all part of the truce process so I can get the hell away from you that much faster!" he insisted.

Malfoy remained unmoved. "Then you go first."

Resting his elbows on his knees, Harry frowned thoughtfully. "Alright, fine. I don't like you, 'cause you're a right prat. I like quidditch, 'cause flying is fun…and I like girls," he added as a very belated afterthought.

This last statement seemed to catch the Head Boy's attention as he finally turned and eyed the Gryffindor almost suspiciously for a long moment.

"What?" Harry asked obliviously. "Your turn."

"My likes and dislikes are none of your business," Malfoy repeated almost regally as he went back to watching the burning tapestry.

"You self-righteous git! That's-"

"Idiot, what you told me could describe anyone," Malfoy cut in before the other could explode in irritation. "Don't tell me you seriously expected me to open up after such a pathetic confession."

"…I also don't like Snape," Harry added, feeling a bit clueless as to what other personal information would be relevant to a Slytherin.

The derisive snort was less than encouraging.

"Well what else am I supposed to—"

"You don't dislike Professor Snape, you _loathe_ him," Malfoy corrected, sitting up in his chair and turning to fix Harry with a piercing stare. "I'd say to the point where you believe he has some personal vendetta against you – which he does. You wear green a lot, probably because people tell you it brings out your eyes, but recently you've started to question if it's really your favorite color or not. You're pretty daft to have let it taken you this long, but your favorite color is really pink. You actually enjoy eating vegetables, probably under the asinine belief that they will make you hit another growth spurt so you can be taller than your Weasley lackey. And finally, nothing gets you off my back better than the entire school gawking at you for whatever reason. It makes you sulk," Malfoy explained at the slight furrow of dark brows.

Harry blinked, not entirely sure how he should feel about the amount of random information the biggest thorn in his side seemed to know about him. He finally settled for crossing his arms defensively and slouching back into the cushions behind him.

"I do _not_ like pink," he grumbled, choosing to ignore the fact that he probably looked like a petulant child; even at the Slytherin's triumphant smirk.

"Shall I continue?" Malfoy offered, his expression more than hinting that he was enjoying this.

"No." Harry glared. "This isn't just about me."

The look of open humor quickly fizzled out to the sneer Harry was more accustomed to seeing as Malfoy sat back, almost as if he were trying to re-distance himself.

"Of course it is," Malfoy said as he mirrored Harry's crossed arms. "It's always about you."

"You're just jealous it isn't about you instead." At the forced scoff, Harry sat forward, the revelation at the truth in his words dawning on him for the first time. "You're a victim of your upbringing," he continued. "Spoiled rotten by parents who sheltered you from what life was really like, it wasn't until you became Head Boy that you began to take positions of power seriously and responsibly."

A second scoff sounded. "And I suppose all that came from Granger?"

Harry opened his mouth only to close it with the realization that it _did_ all come from Hermione. In fact, most of what he heard about Malfoy these days came from her, and nearly all of it was about how mature the aristocrat had become and how admirable it was that he was able to break free from the way he was raised to become a semi-decent human being.

All of her swooning (as Ron called it) was usually done when Harry was in the vicinity in an effort to stop the fights, but it was obvious from last night's detention over a few "accidental" hexes cast after-hours that Harry both never listened and didn't believe a word of what Hermione told him.

"Alright, fine. I think you're an ass. You were an ass the very first time I met you, and you're an ass now," Harry stated honestly. "The only time I see you smile is at someone else's expense and even then, it's only when there's an audience. You brag too much and have no heart. A little bit of sympathy won't kill you, you know."

Malfoy had gone back to staring at the fire. "Careful Potter, or else others will start to believe you only see the negative side of people," he sneered, his bored tone indicating he had detached himself from the conversation.

"There's a positive side to you?"

Malfoy's glare had an unusually oppressive effect, and suddenly Harry was suddenly struck with the impression that the cold atmosphere was that of Hogwarts frowning at him.

"Okay, okay," Harry relented. "Er…you have perfect hair."

The glare turned disbelieving.

"And…nice eyes. I guess," he added, grasping for straws at this point. "But only when you don't have that disgusted look on your face."

"Did you just physically compliment me?" Malfoy asked.

"Yeah, so?" Harry wondered if he should be worried by the tone of Malfoy's question.

Rather than answer, however, the Slytherin stood with a shake of his head. "I'm going to bed."

Following suit, Harry stretched and scooted out from between the couch and coffee table, stopping short when he realized the door still had yet to appear.

"But how-?" His question cut off as he turned back around and saw Malfoy taking over the couch. "Hey! I was there first!"

"And then you got up, relinquishing any claim you had over the settee," Malfoy stated logically, stretching his feet out to the other end of the couch to punctuate his point. Not that it was very effective since his knees were still bent at an almost ninety degree angle due to the seat barely being wide enough to fit two and a half people at most.

"I'm tired, too!" Harry complained, giving Malfoy's knees a half-hearted shove as he sat down on the edge of the table.

"Give it up. I've been wishing for a bed for the last five…"

As the sentence trailed off, Harry turned, following the direction of the incredulous gaze. His own eyes widened at the appearance of a king sized, four poster bed a mere fifteen feet away. The pristine white plush bedspread and ten pillow set beckoned him as green eyes locked on gray, both boys waiting to see what the other would do.

The sound of a log popping in the fireplace startled both students into action, Harry jumping up only to trip over Malfoy's legs as they swung out before him. The only good thing about being jammed between the coffee table and a pair of legs was that his weight kept Malfoy pinned so that he couldn't make it to the bed first. It took a lot of pushing and cursing on both their parts to break free, and the remaining cookies were sacrificed as the table rocked violently from the force of Harry's and Draco's actions.

Both scrambled and leapt onto the bed, only to immediately turn on their sides and begin kicking and shoving at the other in an effort to force him off the bed.

"Get off! I saw it first!"

"You claimed the couch!"

"It's a _settee_ and I was settling for it!"

"You called it; you got it!"

"You said it yourself, you had it first! You can keep it!"

A foot to the stomach left Harry momentarily winded.

"I don't want it," he coughed out. "It's too small."

"Then sleep on the floor for all I care!" Malfoy worked on forcing Harry off the bed with his feet. "This bed is mine! I asked for it, I got it."

Gripping the bedspread as he was shoved closer and closer to the edge, both boys cried out in surprise as the entire blanket began to slide down with Harry's weight, taking even Malfoy with it.

Quickly crawling up and off the falling bedspread, Malfoy did his best to spread himself out over as much of the bed as possible when Harry's thud was immediately followed by the shuffling sound of him trying to free himself from the blanket.

"You can't have it! It's mine!" he proclaimed as Harry stood, glasses skewed.

Wordlessly, Harry stomped over to the other end of the bed, only to stop short as Malfoy hurriedly scooted over to block him.

"Malfoy, you barely take up half the bed! Just share the damn thing!" Harry yelled.

"Bite me," was the snarky reply.

Lip curling at the comeback, Harry went over and grabbed as much of the blanket as he could from the floor. "Fine. You get the bed, I'll take the bedspread."

"Fi-"

Harry smirked triumphantly as Draco stared down at the fitted sheet he was crouched on.

Would the luxury of a plush mattress be worth it without a blanket in this damp castle?

As if on cue, the fireplace grew a little dimmer.

To his credit, Harry waited patiently for all of ten seconds before shrugging his shoulders and dragging the blanket back to the couch.

"Alright! Alright!" Malfoy cried.

Harry turned expectantly, an eyebrow raised.

"We can share the bloody bed. But you get that side," Malfoy said, pointing to the half furthest away from the warm fire.

"Fine," Harry agreed, not really caring which side he was on. He had slept in worse conditions, and with a blanket this big, he probably would have been fine on the floor…not that he was about to let Malfoy know that.

As he dragged the comforter back and moved to the foot of the bed, he took notice of Malfoy's methodic back and forth movement. "What are you doing?"

Shooting Harry a scathing glare for questioning his motives, Malfoy explained, "Setting up a barrier, what does it look like?"

Eyeing the six-pillow line-up that divided the bed in half, Harry couldn't help but be impressed that both halves were actually even.

"I don't have cooties, you know," he said as he tossed the top corner of the blanket onto the bed.

Grabbing a side, Malfoy pulled the bedspread up the rest of the way. "Ask me if I even care." At Harry's pointed silence, Draco continued. "This is so I don't feel your body heat, don't see you toss and turn, and don't smell your breath in the morning."

Toeing off his shoes and slipping out of his sweater, Harry snorted, the first several thoughts entering his head all relating Malfoy's probable lack of a sex life. Not that he really had much of a sex life either…

Realizing the territory his thoughts were in, Harry made a mental note to scrub his brain later and settled on the simple comment of, "You're so lame, you know that?"

"Sod off," Malfoy shot back, his frame rigid as he pulled off his own socks and shoes. Climbing to his knees, he slipped off his robe and removed his belt, tossing both on the floor. He then proceeded to untuck his shirt and undo his cuffs, all while doing a fine job of pretending Harry wasn't there.

Not that Harry cared, but he couldn't help but notice that with the exception of the top two buttons, Malfoy's shirt stayed closed and on. The cold air settling on Harry's arms told him not to read into it as he straightened his t-shirt and removed his glasses, carefully placing them on his crumpled sweater before climbing into bed.

Grabbing a generous portion of the blanket and bundling up inside of it, Harry's mouth opened to say goodnight before remembering the person with him was _not_ a friend.

_But we're stuck here until we get along._

Did getting along really need to include formalities? Harry felt stupid for even having thought of the question.

Hesitating to the point where saying anything now would just sound ridiculous, Harry mentally kicked himself and forced it out.

"Night, Malfoy." He winced at how warbled and weak that sounded.

_A second note to self: Clear your throat before breaking the silence with something poncy._

As the seconds ticked by in silence, Harry figured he either wasn't heard or was being ignored. He briefly considered trying again and being annoying about it until he was acknowledged, but figured that would be more counterproductive than anything.

Shrugging it off, he rolled over and let his eyes drift closed.

"Night, Scarhead."

The way it was mumbled and said almost resentfully made Harry smile, but still, progress was progress.

* * *

**A/N**:As I was writing this chapter, a general idea of how I want the relationship to go came to me. Hooray! I have direction!

Uhm what else...I'm still feeling a little shaky on characterization seeing as how I haven't written for the fandom in over a year...so expect development in both Harry and Draco AND in how I write them as the story progresses. Hopefully I don't screw this one up.

Finally, a HUGE thank you to everyone who's reviewed both this story and HPCoF. It never fails to bring a smile to my face when I see reviews from the HP fandom!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Harry woke to find the blanket gone and his fist buried in the pillow barrier. Surprisingly, he remembered where he was and what had transpired the night before, but in his freshly conscious state, he didn't really care. He needed to go to the loo and that took priority over everything else at the moment.

Rolling out of bed, Harry blindly groped around his pile of clothes for his glasses. Once found, he slipped them on and rose to his knees to make sure nothing had changed.

Hermione's tapestry – check. Fireplace with seating area – check. Still no door – check. Random bit of wall jutting out from a corner…that was new.

Pulling himself to his feet, Harry stumbled around the bed to go investigate the latest alteration the room had given them. The mound under the blanket on the other side of the bed gave a sudden start as Harry passed by and a sleep-ridden voice sounded.

"Wha's..? Potter? What're you…oh. Where are you going?"

Ignoring Malfoy, Harry peered around the short wall and found, to his immense relief, a toilet. As he stepped forward and unzipped his fly, another question floated his way.

"Is that a doo-?" Malfoy's inquiry was both cut off and answered as the sound of urination echoed into the room. When it stopped, Malfoy's voice rose. "You better not have just pissed in a corner." The toilet flushed and no further inquiries were made.

Harry snickered to himself, feeling overly gleeful at managing to bring the Slytherin to silence in such a simple manner. Tucking himself back in, he moved to turn around, only to stop and stare.

A shower and sink had somehow appeared in the suddenly larger nook without his noticing.

Personal hygiene hadn't been anywhere on his list of immediate concerns for the morning, and last he checked, the Room of Requirement wasn't in the habit of producing things people weren't aware they needed. Using his powers of deductive reasoning that he normally saved for when Voldemort was in the picture, Harry figured the room's other occupant was direly wishing for a bath.

Reminding himself to thank Malfoy if they ever did make it to being on friendly terms, Harry promptly stripped down and stepped into the shower.

Normally, the Gryffindor was fast and efficient when bathing; a habit developed from Uncle Vernon's constant complaints about the water bill. But today Harry decided upon a nice, long, hot shower, if only to avoid being within sight of Malfoy. He knew it was probably detrimental to whatever truce they were supposed to be working towards, but the way Harry saw it, as long as they avoided one another, fights wouldn't happen.

Unfortunately, Harry realized his logic was flawed as he stepped out of the bathroom nearly thirty minutes later and discovered that Malfoy had managed to eat nearly all of the food that had appeared for breakfast in his absence.

"Enjoy your shower?" Malfoy sneered as he deliberately bumped Harry in passing.

Harry figured he deserved that. He provoked Malfoy by taking his own sweet time in what the Slytherin probably figured to be _his_ shower, and Malfoy had retaliated by…eating everything.

Shaking his head, Harry approached the small breakfast table that was now located at the foot of the bed. For reasons beyond him, Gryffindors had always been stereotyped as having voracious appetites. It was pretty apparent Malfoy was trying to starve him out as a means of torture.

Grabbing a half-eaten muffin, Harry recalled a time during his second year when he and Ron had a sandwich eating contest just for the hell of it. That had been the first time Harry had truly eaten without inhibition and the contest had ended with him making a mad dash to the nearest broom closet where he was spectacularly sick.

Harry chuckled as he took a seat and bit into the muffin. Beneath that bravado of his, Malfoy's stomach was probably killing him.

Scraping together remaining bits of bacon, crumbs of other pastry items, and whatever else he could find, Harry did his best to enjoy what he could for breakfast. He excluded the fruit – Malfoy had managed to sabotage what he couldn't eat of that.

Harry wasn't picky. Years of growing up on minimal amounts of food gave him plenty of time to realize that beggars couldn't be choosers.

Munching loudly on a spoonful of dry cereal, Harry gave pause as he heard a sound that wasn't coming from the shower. Looking around, he tried to see what else could possibly be making noise within the room. He heard the sound again and stood, determined to find its source.

_Be a door. Please, please, please be a door_, Harry silently begged as he quickly shoveled the rest of his food in his mouth and held it there, afraid that chewing would drown out the…he listened carefully…grinding stone?

Examining the walls, Harry nearly choked when he tried to give a shout of joy as a small hole began to appear. He could hear his name being called and he rushed over as the hole continued to open into a small window with bars.

"Harry? Harry!"

"Miomme!"

Hermione's enthusiasm quickly diminished at the sight of food bits flying out of Harry's mouth.

"Don't." A hand was held up to stop Harry from speaking any further. "Just chew and swallow your food _first_!" Hermione's order ended in a squeak as she was unceremoniously pushed aside and Ron's ginger head came into view.

"Harry! Are you alright? He didn't hurt you too bad, did he? I swear this was all Hermione's idea! She tricked me into it! With her devious – Hey, where is Malfoy anyways?" Ron fell silent long enough to examine what he could of the room. When he couldn't spot any sign of a second body, his eyes widened. "You didn't kill him did you? Merlin, Harry, I was worried something like this would…"

Mouth busily working on the particularly dry ingredients, Harry shook his head.

"He's not dead?" Ron correctly interpreted. He let out a sigh and drew back from the window. "To be honest, I don't know if I'm relieved or disappointed, mate," he joked.

Harry rolled his eyes to show that the sentiment was the same.

"So…did he escape or something?"

Ron frowned at Harry's thick "mnyo" and tried to come up with other reasons as to why Malfoy couldn't be found as he waited for his friend to finish his food.

His mouth dropped open in fury as an idea occurred to him. "Don't tell me he never showed up in the first place! Is this why we couldn't get the door to appear? Because he locked you in?"

"My locking him in would require me showing up in the first place, idiot."

Harry jumped, not having heard Malfoy approach. He then did a bit of a double take as he noticed that the paler man was not only missing his shirt, but the rest of his clothes as well. He was also soaking wet and had a towel wrapped so tightly around his waist that Harry could make out the tale tell bulge of his package.

Rather than comment, Harry quickly looked away, his face flushing.

"And the reason the door is gone," Malfoy continued, failing to notice Harry's reaction, "is because we still have yet to meet the Head Girl's stipulations. Thanks, Granger."

Hermione, who had been patiently standing by waiting for her two best friends to finish reuniting, blinked. "What? But the train's leaving in thirty minutes!" she blurted.

"Oh? So sorry we're failing to adhere to your time schedule," Malfoy hissed as Harry finally swallowed his food and prayed for a bit of patience.

"Hermione, I know you mean well, but please don't tell me you honestly expected friendship between us to just…blossom overnight," Harry pleaded with a bit of exaggerated hand motioning.

"I wasn't asking for friendship," Hermione flustered. "I was asking for a stop to your constant fighting!"

"By locking us in a room together," Malfoy helpfully pointed out. "Doesn't that just make you the genius."

"Shove it, Ferret," Ron snapped, recognizing the growing look of guilt in Hermione's eyes. "Mione, your idea was a great one, but we don't have time for this. Just give them a door so we can catch the train and deal with their issues some other time.

Against his will, Harry bristled. "I don't have issues!" His voice echoed with Malfoy's causing Ron to give the both of them an exasperated look.

The next several seconds ticked by in strained silence as the boys waited for Hermione to undo whatever she had done to the Room of Requirement. Malfoy shuffled forward, eager to be the first one out despite his state of dress. This put him more directly in Harry's line of sight, causing the Gryffindor to notice the way Malfoy's back muscles subtly flexed as he shifted from foot to foot.

_It's just a phase_, Harry told himself. _You're only noticing because of the way the light is glistening off the wet skin. Happens all the time in the showers. Why? Because shiny things attract attention…And I was a cat in a past life._

Harry audibly groaned at his train of thought and forced himself to examine the wall above the window.

"Well?" he heard Malfoy ask.

"I'm trying, but…nothing's happening," Hermione responded worriedly.

Harry could feel his irritation starting to grow and decided it was from being in such close proximity to Malfoy and not because his friends took stupid pills before coming up with this asinine scheme of theirs.

"Granger, I swear to Mordred and Merlin that if you don't get us out of here right now, I'll see to it that your status as Head Girl gets revoked."

Harry snorted and brought his gaze back down. "Going to storm Dumbledore's office with no trousers, are you?"

Malfoy turned and shot Harry the dirtiest look he could muster before stomping off to get dressed, leaving Harry with plenty of room to step up to the window and privately converse with his fellow housemates.

"Are you really all right?" Ron asked quietly as Hermione began to pace. "I feel like such a prat for tricking you into this."

"It's fine," Harry lied, flashing a small, reassuring smile. "I haven't killed him yet, so I'm sure that counts for something."

As if in response to his comment, Hermione shook her head. "I don't understand," she muttered. "If everyone here wants a door to appear, then why isn't one…"

"Maybe…a house elf is stopping you?" Ron suggested, looking a bit sheepish when his friends both gave him odd stares.

"A house elf?" Hermione repeated, as if making sure she heard right.

"Yeah!" Ron turned to Harry. "Remember? In our second year, Dobby blocked the entrance to Platform 9 ¾," he said eagerly. "So who's to say a house elf isn't trying to be 'helpful' now?"

"By keeping me locked in a room with Draco Malfoy?" Harry asked dubiously.

Ron shrugged. "I don't know…maybe its You-Know-Who's house elf, and it's just following orders or something. You know, infiltrating Hogwarts, working with the other elves, slowly poisoning their simple minds to sabotage us all." Ron's eyes darted up and down the hall, spooked by his own words.

"By keeping me locked in a room with Draco Malfoy?" Harry's tone didn't change.

"Ron." Hermione reached up and gave Ron's arm a reassuring squeeze. "You are so cute sometimes."

As Ron's face flushed at a disturbingly fast rate, Hermione turned to Harry and brushed the wrinkles out of the front of her robes, visibly collecting herself with the silent mantra of _Don't panic. There's a logical explanation here somewhere._

"Tell me exactly what happened last night," she ordered.

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment before beginning his story. "I came down here like Ron had asked and found Malfoy instead. He tried to kick me out, but the door disappeared before I could leave. When we tried to make the door reappear, all we got was your indestructible tapestry instead."

"Indestructible?" Hermione asked, picking up on the key word. "What do you mean?"

Harry shrugged. "Malfoy ripped it down and threw it in the fireplace, but a new one appeared in its place."

"The exact same tapestry?"

"Yeah." Harry watched Hermione for a moment, waiting for an indication to continue. But her eyes clearly showed she was deep in calculating mode and couldn't be bothered. With a shrug, Harry decided to continue regardless.

"So…then we talked for a bit and Malfoy got mad that I ate his cookies…and then we fought over who got the bed and went to sleep."

Hermione's head snapped up. "You fought over…You guys didn't even try, did you?"

"We did too! We ended up sharing the bed!" Ron gagged at this admission "And I…asked him what his favorite color was," Harry finished lamely.

"What? How is knowing his favorite color supposed to help you reach a truce?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Told you," Malfoy sneered as he reappeared beside Harry, straightening his tie.

Harry rose to the bait without even missing a beat. "Has anyone ever told you how completely unhelpful you are?"

Malfoy's eyes flashed. "I know this isn't something you're used to, Potter, but for once Granger isn't the only smart one here."

The small window began to shrink, much to Ron and Hermione's alarm.

"Oh, please. Your father is the only reason you were given that Head Boy badge and you know it!"

The last thing head before the window closed up completely was the solid 'thwack' of fist meeting face.

Ron slowly turned to look at Hermione. "What have you done?"

Hermione's eyes dropped to the floor, feeling properly abashed. "I…I think I may have made it impossible for them to escape unless they come to a truce," she answered shakily.

"You think?" Ron demanded angrily, arm wildly gesturing to the wall behind him. "They're certainly capable of doing enough damage to each other without having resort to murder! Why is there no escape clause for when it comes to that? What were you _thinking_?"

Hermione's eyes shone with unshed tears. "I thought they'd be mature enough to handle something like this and –"

"Have you been keeping up with the number of detentions they've had this year?" Ron interrupted. "They're obviously not even mature enough to ignore one another in the corridors!"

"I'm sorry, alright? It was wrong of me to do this! Wrong of me to—" Hermione sniffled, struggling to keep her composure, "—to assume the castle wouldn't resort to these drastic measures to uphold what I wanted. I should have just kept my nose out of it, and instead I've gone and probably lost my best friend because I'm so _stupid_…"

Despite being somewhat used to seeing Hermione cry, Ron quickly pulled her into a close embrace to stop such a thing from happening. Seeing her sad made him feel miserable as well.

"Shh, that's not true," he spoke comfortingly. "We both know Harry's not going to hate you for something like this." A derisive snort sounded from below his shoulder. "I mean, he might be angry with you for a while, but he's probably relying on you right now to figure out a way to get him out of this mess."

Giving Ron a hug in thanks, Hermione pulled back and nodded. "You're right," she said softly, still refusing to meet Ron's eyes. "We should go find Dumbledore. I'm sure he'll know what to do."

Ron nodded and they quietly headed off, the silence between them strained. Trying to think of a way to lighten the mood, Ron did his best to think of something clever and funny to say.

"So…d'you think it's an improvement since neither of them thought to ask for their wands?"

Hermione burst into tears.

**Doodle-eh-doo!**

Harry frowned as he slowly came to, feeling a bit put off that only one eye seemed capable of opening. He was no stranger to waking up in pain, but this was a bit excessive. It felt as if someone were poking at all the bumps and bruises he had acquired during the fight. Merlin, didn't Malfoy know when to quit?

Letting out a groan, Harry blinked as a blurry, misshapen head with large, batty ears appeared above him. A house elf?

For one crazy moment, the Gryffindor found himself believing that Ron's theory was true. But then the face came into focus as it moved closer and Harry realized it was much, _much_ worse.

"Harry Potter, sir?"

"Dobby," Harry groaned out in greeting. "Dobby!" The house elf fell back with a startled yelp as Harry shot up into a sitting position. "You're here! How did you get here? Take me with you!" Harry immediately winced, a split lip immediately making itself known by his outburst.

Dobby didn't respond to any of Harry's pleas as he scrambled forward, fussing over the poorly-wrapped bandages that were already starting to unravel from Harry's arm.

"Harry Potter should not be moving," Dobby scolded as he jumped around the Gryffindor while holding one end of the bandages, effectively binding Harry's arm against his side. "He is all covered in bumps and bruises…"

"I've had worse," Harry dismissed, suppressing a groan as his chest protested his leaning forward so that he could use his free hand to unwrap his foot, which was one of the few parts of his body that had escaped any known damage.

"Stop that!" Dobby smacked Harry's hand away and gasped at what he had done before punching himself in the head several times and continuing about his business.

Harry humored him long enough to spare a glance around the room to ensure there was still no door.

"Dobby, how did you get in?"

"Dobby is a house elf," Dobby answered as if that explained everything.

Harry spent several seconds wracking his brain to try and decipher just what that meant. He knew house elves had powerful magic, so… "You can conjure doors?"

Dobby shook his head. "A house elf is not always needing doors to get places."

With a frown, Harry recalled Dobby's ability to Disapperate at the worst of times – even on Hogwarts grounds.

Looking over, he noticed Malfoy passed out cold on the couch and was successfully driven to distraction for the moment. He was fairly certain the idea to keep fighting until they knocked each other out occurred to the both of them at around the same time. The hope had been they would wake up in the hospital wing. Obviously things hadn't worked out that way.

"Did he pass out there?" Harry's memory was a little fuzzy. The last thing he clearly remembered was Malfoy's face brightening with an idea before coming after him like a mad man. Luckily, Harry caught on quick enough to put up enough of a fight to be proud of before being knocked unconscious.

"No. Dobby put Master Draco there. Master Draco has a delicate disposition; Dobby remembers being told." Finished with his wrapping, Dobby tucked the tip of the bandage away and set about straightening up the room. "He should not be tripping over toppled chairs and banging his head! It is not good for Master Draco's health!"

Harry blinked as a vague memory of a foot to the solar plexus came to mind, followed by an inability to breathe and watching Malfoy stumble backwards, his arms reeling before darkness overtook him.

Shaking himself free of the memory, Harry snorted as the two chairs at the breakfast table were picked up. "Delicate disposition? Dobby, I know the Malfoys were your old masters, but the only think delicate about that git is his ego."

As if on cue, they heard a soft rustling from the couch, causing Dobby to freeze and duck down behind the overturned table. When Malfoy showed no signs of waking, Dobby continued to dart about and pick up ruined dishes.

"Dobby once overhead that wizards with delicate egos have insecurities they is not liking the world to know about. Dobby later punished himself by sticking mud in his ears for eavesdropping."

Harry opened his mouth, ready to ask what sort of insecurities Malfoy might have, but then thought better of it. Dobby was still in the habit of randomly punishing himself for doing anything his old masters would not have approved of, and Harry figured revealing their secrets fell under that category.

Figuring the least he could do was help Dobby, Harry struggled to stand, realizing as he did so that he was wrapped up like a mummy and had no way of moving his left arm thanks to it being bound tightly against his torso. He was pretty sure his arm was fine, but it was a bit hard to tell seeing as how it was numb.

As Harry did his best to pick the table back up with one hand – he was surprised it was still in one piece after the dive both he and Malfoy took over it – he noticed Dobby scooting away from him, opting to wipe away some blood stains while balancing the pile of plates in his arms rather than place them on the now-upright table. Harry's brows furrowed at the odd behavior.

Normally, when visiting Dobby, or vice versa, Dobby gave Harry his full attention and would often beg Harry to stop helping, insisting he could handle his workload. But there he was, not only allowing Harry to help, but also not being his usual, chatty self. He even seemed to avoid the topic of helping Harry find a way out of the Room, despite surely knowing at least something about the predicament he was in.

Something was very obviously off, and Harry could only pray it had nothing to do with Voldemort acquiring house elves.

"Dobby," Harry called, causing the house elf to look in his direction. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," Dobby replied, immediately looking back down at the stain he was working on. "Dinner was served several hours ago, but Dobby will make sure you both is getting something to eat."

"Why can't we just come down to the kitchens when we're ready?" Harry asked, stepping forward.

An odd glance was sent in his direction. "Because you and Master Draco is stuck here."

"But you're here," Harry pointed out. "So surely before you leave you can help us get out."

Dobby froze, his eyes darting towards the smooth stone walls. "Dobby is a house elf and doesn't—"

"I know that," Harry interrupted. "But that's not what I'm asking. Can you conjure us a doorway?"

He watched as Dobby began to jump from foot to foot in a nervous dance, looking very much like he was at war with himself.

"No!" Dobby finally blurted, immediately breaking a plate over his head.

"Ha! You _can_ do it, can't you!" Harry crowed in triumph, before jumping guiltily at Dobby's loud wails of misery.

Hurrying forward, Harry took the rest of the dishes away to prevent any further injuries and winced in pain as he dropped to his knees.

"Dobby, listen. You _have_ to get us out of here."

Dobby shook his head, clutching his large ears in anxiety.

"Something's gone wrong with this room. We figured we couldn't get out at first because it was modeled to what Hermione wants, but then even she couldn't get us out of here. But if you're about to create a way out on your own…" Harry trailed off, hoping his expression came close to that of a pleading puppy, or whatever creature that would appeal to a house elf's better nature.

"Do not ask it of Dobby, Harry Potter, sir, please, please, please do not," Dobby moaned, his eyes screwed shut as he continued to shake his head.

"Why not?"

Rather than answer, Dobby continued to shuffle back and forth, looking fully ready to run at a moment's notice. Harry grabbed his arm to prevent such an escape and repeated his question.

"Why not? Is someone stopping you? Is there someone bad controlling you? Can I help?"

Rubbing his fists over his temples, Dobby shook his head. "No, no, no, no. None of that."

"Then what?" Harry asked.

"It is against Hogwarts' wishes," Dobby finally revealed while pulling the tips of his ears below his chin and tying them into a bow.

Harry blinked. "Against…"

More rustling sounded from the couch, this time followed by a moan. Startled, Harry turned around to see if Malfoy was waking, letting go of Dobby in the process. When he looked back, Dobby was gone.

* * *

**A/N**: I should probably say this now, but for a short while after this, it may feel like things are moving unrealistically fast (unless my lack of confidence in my writing ability for what I have plan is unfounded). Please trust me when I say that's not the case. The focus of the story is not them being trapped in the room forever.

That said, thank you once again for all the reviews for this story! And the reviews left on other stories asking about this one.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

As soon as Hermione exited the Burrow's fireplace, she rushed forward to find comfort in the first pair of arms available and burst into tears.

Less than a minute later, the hearth flared green once more and Ron stepped out, doing a bit of a double-take at Percy's awkward arm flailing against the death grip Hermione had around his waist.

Deciding to ignore it for now, Ron began shedding his scarf and cloak. "Mum! We're home!" he announced, stepping past his older brother and giving him a sympathetic pat on the back as he left the kitchen.

"Uh…Hermione. I…uh…didn't realize you…missed me…so much." Percy could be heard saying as Ron listened for his mother's hurried footsteps.

"Ronald Weasley!" Ron looked up at his mother who was standing at the top of the staircase. "Ginny said she had no idea why your trunks were on the train when you obviously weren't and there was no note from Hogwarts! We've been worried sick!"

Ron scratched at his cheek as Molly came down the stairs. "Yeah, we had a pretty last minute meeting with Dumbledore. Nothing serious!" he added at the sharp look he was given. "Well…nothing _deadly_ serious anyway, or so we've been told…" Ron cleared his throat and began to rock his arms back and forth at his side. "But as you can hear, Hermione's here, and we're obviously both packed and ready to go have fun in Romania." His fist hovered before his chest in a show of lackluster enthusiasm before lowering to cover his stomach when it growled loudly. "You saved some dinner for us, right?"

Frowning, Molly ignored the question and looked from her son over to the kitchen, then to the living room. "Where's Harry?" She even peered around Ron to make sure his bulk wasn't hiding the smaller boy.

"Yeah…he's staying at Hogwarts. To train with Dumbledore."

A crack sounded from the kitchen, followed by Percy's pained cry. "Merlin, my ribs!"

Ron winced at the renewed sobs. "Hermione obviously isn't happy with the decision."

"Training with…?" Molly hurried into the kitchen to save her tallest child. "Come now, dear. There, there, it'll be all right," she reassured as she gently began prying Hermione off of Percy. "What do you mean training with Dumbledore? He was the one who agreed it would be a good idea to get Harry out of the country for a while!"

Percy nearly collapsed onto the table once he was released and was quick to scoot out of the way of any future hugging attempts, as Molly gently helped Hermione into a chair.

"Uhm, something about unforeseen and…ex…tenuating?" Ron drew out the word as if he wasn't even sure it was the right one, "circumstances. But I promise there's nothing to worry about and Harry isn't in any life-threatening danger and I'm sure there's already an owl at Charlie's place waiting to tell us all about it!"

"Then why is Hermione crying?" Molly demanded as she rubbed soothing circles on the girl's back. "What's _wrong_, dear?"

As Hermione visibly tried to collect herself enough to speak, Ron hoped the soul-crushing guilt she felt towards Harry's predicament wasn't enough to make her tell the truth to his mother of all people.

"H-he broke m-my _heart_," Hermione sobbed out as she placed an elbow on the table and hid her face in her hand.

"Who? Harry?" Molly looked positively scandalized. "_Does Ginny know?_" she mouthed at Ron.

"No! J-just…just some b-boy!"

"Oh, sweetheart!" Molly cooed. "Whoever he is, he obviously isn't good enough for you. But don't worry! I'm sure there's someone out there meant for you. And who knows? He might even be closer than you think." She turned and hissed at Ron, "Get over here!"

Blushing at his mom's poorly concealed matchmaking, Ron hurried forward to take her place, allowing her to go about warming up some comfort food.

Hermione had been crying off and on pretty much since they left Harry, and Ron was completely out of consoling things to say. Dumbledore had reassured them that everything would be okay despite not being able to do anything about the situation. If (and hopefully when) the Room of Requirement released Harry, they would be the first to know. But until then, it was considered a matter of utmost secrecy that no one find out that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were trapped in a room together – let alone in an effort to become friends.

And it was simply because the effects for them from both sides of the war could be devastating.

**Doodle-eh-doo!**

Draco screwed his eyes shut. There was no way it was morning yet. After spending a good portion of the previous day unconscious, he had only just managed to fall asleep several hours ago.

There was a dull throbbing in his head thanks to the bandage being wrapped too tightly around his skull. Draco didn't dare remove it, though. The chances of him having a concussion were high, especially since the castle didn't see it fit to release him to the hospital wing after sustaining potentially life-threatening injuries at the hand of someone with a questionable psyche.

Draco didn't know much about healing charms and potions – that's what Healers were for. But when left with no Healers and Potter as his only company…If he weren't already rolling in money, Draco would seriously consider taking up a career in the healing arts. Not that he ever planned on getting stuck in this type of situation ever again. But as it was, he figured he could settle on asking the Room nicely for some books to read up on. Draco knew absolutely nothing about concussions other than they were what happened when you hit your head.

Opening his eyes and frowning into the darkness, Draco rolled onto his back and stared up into more darkness. He wished he had his wand so he could cast constellation charms on the ceiling to stave off boredom. He wasn't feeling tired enough to fall back to sleep anytime soon and he refused to crawl out of bed and risk waking Potter. He was still mad at him for summoning a House Elf and letting it leave without making proper demands like _bring me pain potions_.

A soft rustling from the other side of the pillow barrier instantly caught Draco's undivided attention. He didn't need to strain his ears; the noise was fairly loud in the otherwise silent room.

As the sound continued and failed to develop any telltale signs of Potter actually waking up, Draco grew annoyed. Was the idiot dreaming? As if in response to the unspoken question, Potter moaned, causing grey eyes to widen almost comically. Was Potter having an erotic dream?

Draco's first instinct was to smack Potter with a pillow and put an immediate end to it, as he would with any of his dorm mates. But for some reason, he remained frozen, listening to the noises coming from the other side of the bed. They weren't exactly rhythmic and didn't hold any tale-tell signs of a wet dream. Would Potter murmur the name of whoever he was dreaming about?

Curiosity getting the best of him, Draco decided to risk taking a peek. After all, it would be best if he had real evidence when he told the world about this encounter. One of the questions sure to be on everyone's mind was Potter's size.

Moving slowly so as to not wake his bedmate, Draco turned onto his belly and pushed the upper half of his body up high enough to see over the pillows. Dim lighting illuminated the immediate area as a small oil lamp on a bedside table appeared next to the Gryffindor's side of the bed. Draco examined Potter's face long enough to notice his brows were drawn in and his mouth was slightly open before his gaze drifted south.

The thick blanket did an excellent job of obscuring any potential view of Potter's groin.

Refusing to let such an obstacle deter his raging curiosity, Draco carefully lifted the cover and pulled it down, his mind already racing with excuses incase Potter began to stir.

"_You weren't waking up, so I figured I would pitch a tent._" What?

"_About time you woke up. If you can't refrain from having wet dreams around me, you automatically forfeit your half of the blanket._" Better.

"_Don't think into it, Potter. I was only three seconds away from drenching you in ice water._" Note to self: make sure ice water was in the vicinity before blurting this one out.

There was no boner.

Feeling disappointed, Draco dropped the blanket and realized this meant one of two things. Either Potter's pants were charmed to hide erections or he was having a nightmare. The first was unlikely and the second was actually quite frightening as far as the rumors were concerned. Granted, Draco had helped to spread said rumors, but his father had hinted that there was probably some truth to them. It certainly put things into perspective when he was faced with the very real possibility of Potter waking up and looking at him with the Dark Lord's eyes.

This was why Harry found himself rudely awakened by a slightly sore head and a very intimidating Malfoy staring down at him with a dented tin cookie tray raised in his hands.

"Prove to me you're not a minion of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" Malfoy demanded.

"Crumpets?" Harry's addled mind supplied.

This was obviously the wrong answer and the tray came down again, doing very little damage aside from conforming to Harry's face.

Harry still reacted, though, clutching his nose as if it were broken and rolling off to the side, crying out in pain. And then he realized it didn't actually hurt at all.

"Bloody _fucking_—what was that for?"

"Prove to me you're really Harry Potter and not a minion of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" Malfoy repeated, refusing to be swayed.

Brain somewhat caught up on just what was going on, Harry sat up, ignoring the way Malfoy flinched back and raised the tray again.

Running a hand through his forever-disheveled hair, he snorted sleepily. "Please. Between the two of us, _you're _the one most likely to be Voldemort's lackey."

"Prove it." The tray was now being clutched like a shield. "Tell me something only Potter would know."

"You mean beside the fact that you're an annoying prick?" Harry challenged, his hand already balling into a fist, ready to throw the first punch if needed.

Rather than reply with some witty comeback, Malfoy merely stared at Harry for a long, calculating moment. His eyes flickered from Harry's frown down to the fist that was hovering just over the mattress. Finally, he nodded and tossed the warped tray aside, backing away to his side of the bed as the tin crashed in the distance. Lifting the covers, Malfoy disappeared behind the pillow barrier as he lay down.

"Night, Potter," he spat sullenly, the room flooding into darkness at his words.

For a long moment, Harry remained where he was, trying to sort out what had just happened. He had never been attacked with a cookie platter before, and that included all the times Aunt Petunia had come after him with cooking and dining related objects.

He had been peacefully slithering along, hunting rats, when he came across a rather nervous looking Death Eater and…oh.

Harry wondered what had given away the fact that he was channeling Voldemort's pet versus the off chance he was just having a normal nightmare. Despite Malfoy's reaction, Harry wouldn't have put it past the prat to violently wake him up just because he could. But all things considered, Harry figured he should be grateful. He didn't get sucked into Voldemort's mind that often anymore, but when he did, he was usually unable to pull himself out without outside help. Not that he was about to let Malfoy in on that little tidbit of knowledge, let alone thank him.

Staring over at the bulge of Malfoy's still form, Harry knew that if Voldemort got wind of their current predicament, the nightmares would grow worse and more frequent and the end results wouldn't bode well for either of them.

Frowning at his lap, Harry shut his eyes and tried to follow the steps he had been taught in his Occlumency lessons. After several minutes of clearing his mind and raising his mental defenses, Harry found himself trying not to give into the idea that this was stupid. Looking over at Malfoy once more, he lost the battle and flopped back against his pillow, drifting off to sleep almost instantly.

**Doodle-eh-doo!**

Malfoy was in one hell of a bad mood. At least, that's what Harry's tingling Slytherin senses were telling him.

He had done his best to remain as quiet as possible when he woke up, figuring it was a common courtesy since the bed was lacking drapes to nullify any noise. But apparently, Harry wasn't quiet enough because as he was exiting the corner bathroom, he stopped short at the sight of Malfoy's bloodshot eyes fixed firmly upon him. For a long moment, the two merely stared at one another before Harry slowly turned and headed towards the breakfast table. Did Malfoy not sleep at all last night?

His tingling Slytherin senses were leaning towards 'probably not.'

Harry did his best to ignore the piercing gaze that seemed to study him as he ate. It rubbed him wrong for some reason, the way Malfoy was watching him. As if he didn't trust him.

Okay, so maybe Malfoy had every reason not to trust him given their history, but it wasn't like Harry was going to secretly instigate anything. He certainly wasn't the one to throw the first punch yesterday.

He sullenly stabbed at his eggs with a bit more force than necessary, scowling as his seemingly metal fork bent like rubber under the impact. Did the Room seriously just protect his _food_ from his temper?

A sudden movement caught Harry's attention and he looked up to see Malfoy removing the bandages around his head before finally climbing out of bed. Running his hands wearily through his hair once was enough to put each strand impeccably in place and Harry couldn't help but be a little jealous. His own hair always seemed to make a game out of not obeying his commands.

Glowering down at his food, Harry was a bit surprised when Malfoy actually joined him at the table after getting dressed. Were they finally going to start making real progress today?

"Morning."

"Shove it."

Harry blinked at the unexpected response, doing a bit of a double-take as Malfoy unceremoniously dumped the entire basket of rolls on this plate.

"Hey, don't eat all the rolls. I want one."

Malfoy ignored him in favor of ripping one in half with his teeth.

Harry's expression deadpanned. "And it'll make you fat."

Malfoy actually gave pause at this before picking up a new roll, licking it, and smashing it saliva-side down onto the Gryffindor's plate.

Slamming his fork down, Harry jumped to his feet. "You—" He stopped himself short of leaping over the table and strangling Malfoy.

Fighting wasn't going to get them anywhere. Running his hands through his hair, Harry did his best to reason with himself. Yes, it would feel amazing to beat the bloody shit out of Malfoy, but he would feel pretty bad if he caused any serious damage.

In theory.

"You are an ass," Harry spat out instead, marching over to the couch where he threw himself down and snagged one of the quidditch magazines that had appeared on the coffee table.

"An ass? Again? Is that really the best you can come up with?" Malfoy's sigh was almost inaudible as he rubbed the sleep from one of his eyes. "Your insults are usually so much more creative. But if lame is the goal for the day, then fine."

Harry glanced up to see Malfoy buttering his rolls with care.

"Your hair is atrocious, your glasses are ugly, your personal wardrobe makes it look like someone slipped a few drops of Shrinking potion in your pumpkin juice, and you have a scar." Malfoy pointed at his own forehead. "Right there."

Harry remained stubbornly silent as he turned the page of his magazine with a bit more force than necessary.

"No?" Malfoy questioned. "How about I start insulting your friends? They're in a pretty lame category all on their own."

"So are yours," Harry shot back before he remembered he was trying to ignore the git and brought the magazine closer to his face.

Malfoy's smirk was only a tad malicious as he went on to insult Ron's hair. Then Hermione's hair. Then Ron's freckles, Neville's ears, Neville's toad, Ginny's obvious crush, Hagrid's size, Hagrid's hut, Hagrid's hair, Hagrid's beard, Dumbledore's beard, Dumbledore's incompetence as Headmaster, Hermione's parents, the entire Hufflepuff house, and then the Weasley family's general lack of money. The insults actually managed to continue all the way through lunch when Harry finally grew sick of simply hearing Malfoy's voice.

"You know, at the rate you're going, we'll be stuck in here until we graduate," he pointed out.

Looking highly offended at being interrupted, Malfoy's words took a sarcastic turn. "Well, look who's finally ready to be my best friend. Here, Potter, let me pour you some tea in celebration." An entire tea set materialized on the coffee table and the Head Boy began to meticulously go about preparing a cup. "Here you are. Draco's finest! Oh, wait. As your new best friend, I should probably check it for poison. Just in case."

Harry's eyebrow rose in mild amusement as Malfoy hesitantly took a small sip of tea and paused in wait. The bags under his grey eyes made Malfoy look completely sleep deprived, which Harry suspected he was.

"Yes, I'd say that's safe enough. Here you go, Potter."

Harry returned his attention to the novel he was now reading. "I don't want your tea." His drawl would have made any Slytherin proud.

There was a distinctive clink as Malfoy set the teacup and saucer down before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms almost petulantly. "Whatever. Like I would ever want to replace Weasley as your best friend anyway."

Abruptly bored with his book, Harry dropped it to the floor and slouched further into the couch. "You wouldn't have the balls to stay by my side when I would need you."

Malfoy scoffed. "I have twice the balls of you _and _Weasley put together."

"Oh yeah? Prove it."

Malfoy blinked at the unexpected challenge. "What, you want me to whip it out so you can see?"

The silence in the room was deafening as both boys gave pause at the idea. When Harry failed to come up with a timely response, Malfoy's face went lax with shock.

"Holy hell," he whispered reverently, as if unable to believe the concept that had just entered his brain. "Potter, you bloody poofter. You want to see my dick."

Harry's eyes were wide and his head was moving in denial. "No, I don't," he said quickly, despite his slow movement as he straightened his body into a proper sitting position. "You shouldn't jump to such stupid conclusions. Because I'm not gay."

Malfoy eyed him almost suspiciously before standing and undoing his belt.

"Whoa! What are you doing?" Harry demanded as he pushed himself into the back of the couch.

If ever there were a time to escape, now would be when the Room should have provided one. But rather than frantically look around for a door, or a window, or even a blanket to hide behind, Harry's eyes were glued to Malfoy's crotch as he actually reached in and pulled out his flaccid penis.

Hands curled into claws and gripping the couch cushions for dear life, Harry froze, as if any movement would scare the appendage away. But like the body it belonged to, Malfoy's penis seemed to thrive under the attention and eventually twitched as Harry found himself unable to look away.

His mouth went dry.

"Are you just going to stare at it all day?" Malfoy finally asked. "Hurry up and show me yours! It's starting to feel drafty," he muttered in complaint.

"What?" Harry's gaze ripped itself away from the penis and up to Malfoy's face in absolute terror. "I never agreed to—"

"How else are you supposed to prove you've got bigger balls than me?" Malfoy interrupted with a scoff.

Harry's attention flickered back down. "I'm not looking at your balls, Malfoy."

With a roll of his eyes, Draco shifted his pants down a bit more so that his ball sack was exposed with relative ease. "Cock, balls, it's all part of the same plumbing. I've shown you mine, so don't even think of backing out now and not showing me yours."

Thoughts were racing through Harry's head. This was completely ridiculous. There had to have been something in that tea because there was no way Malfoy would ever _volunteer_ to show Harry his penis. This had to be some kind of trick. But if it was a trick, and Harry refused to participate, wouldn't the joke be on Malfoy? But if Harry _did_ participate, Malfoy wouldn't exactly be able to tell anyone without having it revealed that he was in the same boat. So then what was the point to all of this beside driven curiosity? Raging teenage hormones?

Hormones! Yes! That had to be it! Hormones and the way Malfoy's dick was now several shades of red darker.

Brain stuttering to a halt, Harry felt himself moving to stand as he fumbled with his belt. Pushing his underwear and trousers down to his thighs, he lifted the tail ends of his shirt and fully exposed himself.

As if hypnotized, Malfoy walked around the low table to Harry's side and stared down at the slightly darker penis.

"You know," he began, his voice coming out slightly breathless. "Being half-hard is cheating."

Despite his blush, Harry frowned. "You're half-hard, too."

"That's only because of the way you've been staring at me," Malfoy dismissed as his fingers slowly began to move up and down his shaft.

"How have I been…?" Harry trailed off as he watched, missing Malfoy's grin at his expense. "What are you doing?'

"Evening out the playing field. Best to compare when they're both completely hard, yeah?"

Harry mindlessly nodded. He didn't have that much farther to go from watching Malfoy alone, but closed his fist around his cock regardless, hoping the other would miss how it took all of two and a half pumps to bring him right to where he needed to be.

Stepping closer to one another, they jutted their hips out and held their cocks parallel to the floor. For a moment, they merely stared. And then Harry's hand moved completely of its own accord.

Malfoy very nearly jumped out of his own skin. "What are you—?" His question ended in a breathless gasp as Harry's fingers trailed over his tip.

"Uh…" Harry wasn't quite sure himself. "Just checking to make sure it was fully hard?" he guessed, offering an innocent smile as Malfoy's eyes narrowed.

"Asshole. You don't have to rub it in." Malfoy frowned down at the slight difference in length. "Besides, it's not the size that counts, but—"

"—How you use it?" Harry would have laughed if he didn't feel so completely absorbed in the moment. "That's bull and you know it."

"Oh?" Malfoy challenged. "And how _do_ you use it, Potter?" Batting Harry's wrist away, Malfoy stepped in closer as he grabbed Harry's erection and ran his thumb over the head. "First to come loses."

Harry's right knee quivered as he stared disbelievingly between them. Were they really – he barely stopped the moan from erupting in his throat. Yeah, they were really.

Reaching out, he took Malfoy and slowly began to pump his fist, his pace faltering as Malfoy moved in even closer. Harry already knew there was no way he was going to win this one. His breathing was heavily labored and he was practically throbbing under Malfoy's touch.

If he had any doubts about his questionable sexuality before, they were mostly gone now. He was fairly certain it wasn't normal to be this turned on by what was happening.

And then some of his precum managed to slide beneath Malfoy's grip and Harry knew it was over. Muscles tensing in preparation, he bit his lip and moved his own hand faster, held his grip tighter, as if conveying his wishes as to what he wanted Malfoy to do. Instead, a soft groan reached his ears and Harry was sent flying over the edge, cursing through his teeth as Malfoy's hand stopped, leaving him to thrust his hips into the pale fist to milk out his orgasm.

As soon as half a brain cell started working again, Harry continued with his previous ministrations that had stopped the second Malfoy had moaned. He could hear Malfoy panting and realized that the blond's forehead was resting against his shoulder. The light pressure on his arm let him know that his bicep was being gripped and when that light pressure turned into a harsh squeeze, he knew Malfoy was coming.

He kept his hand moving until Malfoy pulled his hips away, forcing Harry to relinquish the hold he didn't know he had on them.

For a long moment, the two merely stood facing each other, eyes on the floor and dirtied hands awkwardly held off to the side as they caught their breath.

Coming a bit more to his senses, Harry did his best to pull up his pants and shuffle out from between the couch and coffee table to go wash his hands. Back slightly hunched and head down, he could feel the mortification slowly seeping in. He couldn't believe he just did that. Did they _really _just do that?

He failed to notice the way heavily dilated eyes followed him for a moment before Draco turned his head to examine his hand. His palm felt sticky and the back was covered in Potter's slowly cooling cum.

The exhaustion that had momentarily disappeared for the act was creeping back in now that his blood pressure was returning to normal. Draco had no idea what had possessed him to take things as far as they did, but he found himself with practically no regrets.

Bringing his hand up to his face, Draco took a cautious sniff, his nose wrinkling at the heavy smell of sex. With a clean finger, he poked at the milky liquid before running the digit through it to get a better feel for its texture. It seemed no different from his own.

He briefly looked up as he heard the faucet from the bathroom shut off before returning his attention to his finger. On a whim, he brought it to his mouth and hesitated for a fraction of a second before licking it.

He had heard some of the older girls around school discuss that blowjobs took time getting used to because it was an acquired taste. But as Draco's eyes fluttered shut and he swallowed, he knew that wasn't necessarily true. Because Potter was damn delicious.

Ignoring the Gryffindor as he exited the bathroom, Draco took his turn at washing up. Once clean, he properly tucked himself back in and realized he was fighting back a smile. Upon reflection, he decided it was not only because he was currently the only person on the planet who knew what The Boy Who Lived tasted like, but that he was probably Potter's first and no one could ever take such a claim away from him.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Thank you SO much to all my readers who have been nothing short of patient with me. I know I'm a horrible person, but seriously, all of your reviews just brighten my day and help to keep this story on my mind. The random influx of reviews and messages I get from time to time help me to remember my roots with the fandom.

Also, I know there were a few of you who sent me PMs right before the site completely redid the messaging system. As a result, I lost your messages before I was able to respond. Please feel free to PM me again! I promise I'm not intentionally ignoring anyone!


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